Twilight
by iruusu
Summary: Sindrian sunsets were always beautiful, but they were especially radiant with Judal beside him.


**A/N: This is so corny I'm blushing as I post this hrfdkrhdg... This is an apology for chapter 6 of Melt being late. I'm so embarrassed of this but anyway please enjoy this self-indulgent tooth rotting fluff I'm so sorry.**

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It was rare that Judal allowed himself to admire such simple things in life. He had learned very quickly that life lent more suffering than beauty, and it was easier to accept that than to pine for something that could never be. Judal couldn't understand, then, why he found himself lounging upon a vibrant dome of the Sindrian palace, watching the setting sun.

Judal was most often the type to laugh at sentimental nonsense like this. Stargazing served no real purpose, and it certainly wasn't any fun, but there was a certain peacefulness to times like this. There was something oddly comforting in those few, precious moments when day met with night, something so lovely about the vivid patterns in the clouds that Judal was touched in a place he didn't know he still had. Perhaps it was moments such as these that he found reflected in himself, a figure shrouded in both darkness and light, an essence matched only by the neutrality of dusk.

It was nice.

That didn't quite explain why Judal had wound up in Sindria, though. There were sunsets everywhere. There were sunsets in Kou, of course, but the Kou palace just never felt right for days like these. There was always one of those bothersome priests there to pester him as though he were still a child, even in those rare moments when Judal wanted nothing more than to be alone. It wasn't just that; Kou drained him. The black rukh were tiring, always whispering into his ear, and it was fine if they were his own but those clearly weren't, and it was exhausting just to be near them. Sindria wasn't like that. The only dark rukh in Sindria were his own—a fact Judal looked on with something like bitterness—but everything else was pure and light. It almost felt as though the darkness within him didn't matter here, and Judal liked that. So he came.

And, it was totally irrelevant, but that Stupid King was here too.

"What are you doing here, Judal?"

Judal shot to an upright position, more out of shock than anything else, and he locked eyes with Sinbad's tall figure standing above him. Had Judal really been so far off that he couldn't even notice Sinbad's presence right beside him?

But in that voice, Judal would have expected bitterness, paired with the tired agitation that often came from Sinbad when the magi came to Sindria like this. Now, though, Sinbad's voice seemed so oddly gentle for once, so far away. Judal could not remember another time when Sinbad had looked at him so tenderly.

"Sinbad," was all Judal could think to say. And, after a too-long moment of silence, "how did you get up here?"

Sinbad risked a faint smile, and it was such a soft, unusually warm gesture that if Judal were standing, his knees surely would have gone weak. "I know the way around my own palace. How did you get up here?"

"I can fly. Idiot king," replied Judal, but his voice lacked the venom that he half-expected from himself. Judal tugged his knees up to his chest, suddenly feeling very exposed and trying to ignore the heat in his face. "You should know that."

"My mistake," said Sinbad, as Judal defiantly outstretched and reclined against the cool surface beneath his bare back. To his dismay, Sinbad said nothing.

"Aren't you going to tell me to leave?" asked Judal.

"Well, you haven't done anything wrong yet. I don't have any real reason to."

Judal was silent, and Sinbad watched him for a moment. And then, as though Judal were in a dream, Sinbad took a seat beside him. Judal instantly grew tense, and then his heart was racing, almost as quickly as were his thoughts. This could not have been real, and yet there was Sinbad, lying outstretched beside him as though it were nothing. He made everything seem so easy like this, with his relaxed posture and his even gaze, and all of this while Judal felt like he could burst at any second.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm watching the sunset," said Sinbad with an irritatingly smug look, and Judal silently cursed him. "And what about you? Why are you here?"

"I don't know," he grumbled sheepishly.

Sinbad half-chuckled and Judal's blood ran cold. He was almost afraid to look beside him, he was afraid of the way that Sinbad might look back, and so Judal kept his gaze steady on the pink and orange patterns in the clouds. "I never took you as one for stargazing."

"I never took you for fraternizing with the enemy," Judal muttered, and there was that laugh again, a laughter that rung like bells, just soft and warm and comforting enough to strike a chord deep within him. It was a laugh so infectious that Judal did not notice as he began to smile.

"I wouldn't say that we're enemies, Judal."

The manner in which Sinbad rasped his name made Judal shudder. He had such a deep voice, so fitting of his presence and demeanor. It was the sort of low and melodious hum that could put a child to sleep and soothe the flow of tears. Judal thought that Sinbad's voice was one of his most attractive features, but that was especially true when he spoke Judal's name.

Judal thought carefully as the words rolled off his tongue. "Then what are we?"

Sinbad did not quite know how to answer, so he didn't. But as he looked to Judal, so oddly relaxed but for the pink flushing his cheeks, he didn't think he'd ever seen anything prettier. There was something so ethereal about Judal with his features illuminated by the setting sun, something about the way that the fractured light glistened off of his milky skin and shone against his impossibly long hair. The scarlet of his eyes matched perfectly with the deep red against the horizon, and suddenly Judal seemed even more like the sun than he ever had before.

Perhaps he was only being sentimental at seeing this unusually innocent, sweet-tempered version of Judal, so different from the one he always thought he knew. Sinbad had to wonder if this was the person who Judal truly was, buried beneath layers and layers of attitude and scorn. He hoped that it was.

"I don't know," he answered finally. "But sunsets are far more beautiful when they're spent with someone else, wouldn't you agree?"

Judal turned to him with wide eyes, and his whole face had gone red. For someone so immodest, Judal was unmatched in his innocence. Sinbad had to wonder if anyone had ever spoken to him like this before, and as much as the thought concerned him, Sinbad took selfish pride in being the only person to ever see that pretty blush.

"I... I guess so," Judal managed.

"Why did you come to Sindria, anyways? I'm sure the sunsets are just as beautiful in Kou."

Judal looked away. "Kou is different. The skies are always so faded and washed out; you can barely even see the stars. But in Sindria, everything is so bright and clear. I can see the silver lining behind every cloud and every twinkling star in the night sky. I like it."

Sinbad hummed in agreement, considering the words. Judal rarely spoke so thoughtfully. Sinbad had once imagined that everything coming from his mouth was either insult or vulgarity, not this. He never imagined that Judal could be so tender.

"Or maybe you just like me."

It was becoming quite a challenge to contain his feelings when Sinbad spoke like this. Sinbad could unravel him so easily, as though he wasn't really trying, and yet when Judal was with him he could feel himself coming undone. Judal was too flustered to really look at him, so he just lay there and hummed softly in response.

"Maybe I do."

And really, he had expected Sinbad to leave. At the very least, Judal had expected Sinbad to shut him down or send him away, something. Judal didn't know why he ever thought to say something so idealistic; he berated himself for letting his guard down. It was so infuriating that a few insignificant words from the stupid king could elicit such a response from Judal, and he was beginning to wish that he'd never come to Sindria.

And then Judal felt something warm brush against his fingertips, and he was paralyzed as Sinbad carefully took his hand. Judal could feel the concealed prowess in his grip, could feel the calluses in his palm from years upon years of hard labor, something Judal would never have, and yet his touch was so gentle. Sinbad held Judal's frail hand tenderly, as though he were something precious, something he didn't want to break.

"Sinbad…" he whispered, and it was less of a question than a statement, and then Judal turned to his right and met with Sinbad's golden eyes, and the softness in them put an ache deep in his chest.

When Judal looked at him with those eyes, Sinbad could feel his heart stop. Judal was beautiful, he had always been beautiful and he always would be beautiful, but at that look, that yearning in his gaze, that deep, longing desperation that could not quite be feigned, Sinbad had never wanted anything more. He should have labeled these feelings as infatuation and been done with Judal altogether, but as he gazed deep into those heavy-lidded scarlet eyes, Sinbad knew that even the most brilliant sunset could never compare.

"I'm glad that you came here, Judal," and there was that deep, husky voice again, and Judal cursed himself for falling for Sinbad's charms just like any one of his women, but he couldn't help himself.

"Why?" he asked. Judal barely noticed as they were both sitting upright now, face to face, and Judal unknowingly leaned just faintly closer. He could almost feel Sinbad's hot breath on his lips.

Gazing down at Judal like this, at the wonder in his eyes, at the flush dusting his cheeks, at the softness of his plump pink lips, Sinbad could hardly restrain himself for another second.

"No sky can ever be as beautiful as you."

Judal froze. His eyes had gone wide, and the flush deepened across his fair cheeks, and his lips, parted just slightly in his awe, began to tremble. With his free hand Sinbad brushed back a strand of Judal's dark hair, and he felt the boy shiver beneath his touch. Sinbad's hand strayed lower to brush against his jaw, and he guided Judal's face to tilt upwards. Their hands were still entwined together when Sinbad crushed his lips against Judal's, and he couldn't help but smile at Judal's soft gasp when their lips met.

Judal was cute. Sinbad had always thought of him as a creature of elegance and refined grace, but this was a different sort of beautiful. This beauty was of Judal's cold, delicate hand pressed against Sinbad's collarbone, of slender fingers winding into the fabric of his heavy robe, of the earnestness in Judal's pretty features with his eyes clenched shut, and the movement of his slow, sensitive lips.

Sinbad wondered, now, whether this was Judal's first kiss, for he seemed inexperienced but not unpleasantly so. It was as though he didn't quite know what to do, but like he was willing to learn and willing to accept Sinbad, and that was more than enough.

When Sinbad finally pulled away, Judal could hardly breathe, but as Sinbad's warm breath tickled his lips, that was enough. He gasped to regain his breath, and then, when he was sure he could remain upright, Judal took his tentative hand from Sinbad's shoulders and brought it to his own lips, as though assessing whether Sinbad's kiss was really real. Every far off fantasy Judal had ever dreamed was here, laid out before him, and he didn't even know where to start.

"Sinbad…" Judal whispered again, because it was all he knew to say. Judal didn't want to acknowledge the dampness welling in his eyes, so with his free hand he wiped his tears and realized the other was still entwined with Sinbad's. He looked at their hands, disbelieving, and tightened his grip just to remind himself that this was real.

"It's getting late," said Sinbad softly, with that tenderness still laced his voice, and with their closeness Judal could feel the sound reverberate against his heaving chest.

And as Judal looked around, like he was waking up from a dream, the sky was darker. The sun had long fallen below the horizon, and the sky glowed softly with all shades of deep blue and indigo and violet. Twilight had risen in its place; those precious seconds where day met night would end as quickly as they had come, and with it, Judal's welcome.

"I should go," Judal said as he loosened his grip, but Sinbad's grasp was still strong and firm in his hand. Judal looked at him, and his amber eyes shone as bright as ever, even in the low light.

"Come in for a while," Sinbad insisted. Judal looked at him for a moment, studied the kindness in his eyes, the welcoming smile spread across his lips, and remembered how foolish it was to pine for something that could never be. Only now, perhaps, it could.

"Alright," said Judal.

So he did.


End file.
